


The Letter

by audrxyweasley



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Gen, Sibling Bonding, There is no bonding, badly planned, joke, only the overwhelming hate they have for each other, stay tuned on, who knows - Freeform, will a relationship appear?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-12 02:38:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11727774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/audrxyweasley/pseuds/audrxyweasley
Summary: After Thomas Barrow receives a letter with news he doesn't want to hear, he is found passed out at the table in the servant's hall the next morning in an awful state. But what did the letter say, who sent in, and what will the consequences be?





	The Letter

**Author's Note:**

> I apologise about the awful summary. Please Comment and Kudos, it really helps to motivate me! Thanks to @butterymagicalprince for beta-ing this!

Thomas sighed, stubbing out his cigarette into the ashtray. Should anyone come down, they would see him in a state much unlike his usual, but he doubted anyone would come to the servant's hall at this time. It was nearing two am, and Thomas was sat at the table, the ashtray overflowing with nearly a pack of cigarettes, hair dishevelled and out of his livery. Carson would be appalled at the thought of Thomas sat in just his trousers and his undershirt, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. The letter lay folded on the table in front of him, the anger fueled paper still screaming at him hours after he had opened it. Honestly, he could do with a strong drink, but it had been hard enough to worm his way back into Downton after the last time he’d been caught sneaking the wine; he doubted there’d be room for him if he tried it again.

Thomas sighed, sliding the ashtray away from him very much in the same manner a toddler would push a toy away. The chair creaked as he leant back in it, considering his options. There was a chance she wouldn’t actually come to Downton, that she was bluffing to try and scare him into action. Her brain still contained as much substance as a cloud if she thought that was going to happen. 

Thomas ran a nervous hand through his hair, the last remains of pomade coming out onto his fingers. The letter sat just inches away from the ashtray, close enough that he could grab it and set it alight should he choose, and ignore its existence altogether. His hand moved closer to the match box, the ugly wound marring his hand a stark contrast to his well-kept nails, which were lightly drumming the box, the sound almost teasing him, begging him to drag it closer.

He succumbed to the temptation, clawing the box of matches towards him and sliding it open. The crimson red tip in comparison to the light shade of the match made him sneer as it reminded him of Alfred. To be fair, Alfred would never be as much use to him as a match. With slightly trembling hands, more so than he was used to since the war had ended, he pulled a match out of the box and struck it against the side. 

Thomas slid the letter to underneath his hand, but he didn’t pick it up from the table, not yet.Instead, he just held the match, watching as the flame slowly danced, the light illuminating the folded letter even more. Thomas did not know how long he sat there, with a feeling of tranquillity flowing through him, but soon the slow burn of the flame was close to his fingers, a searing pain jerking him back to reality.

The sharp pain made him flinch, the remains of the match slipping from his fingers and onto the paper below. Thomas cursed sharply underneath his breath as he stamped it out with the heel of his scarred hand, blowing on it in an attempt to limit the amount that damage that could be caused to the letter.

The fire quickly stopped, and soon the letter was back to its original state, besides the black spot on the top. Thomas unfolded the letter, staring at the three black spots slightly off centre on the letter. He scanned over it, trying to assess the damage.  
__  
Dear Thomas,  
You’ve hidden for long enough. It’s been twelve years without even a letter. Mother is ill Thomas, and I’m coming to Downton whether you like it or not. With your nature, I’m surprised you’ve clung on to a job for so long. Not only are you a lavender, Thomas, but you’re a thief as well. And what of the war, Thomas? I’m sure you found a way to avoid that. You’d faint if you got a scratch, let alone a bullet wound. I’m sure I’ll have time to ask you all these at some point in the future, Tommy. I’m sure you’ve not heard that in years. Even in your younger years, you were insistent on Thomas. I’ll see you soon Tommy. Either you come to me, or I come to you.  
Eliza  
  
Thomas grimaced. The letter was fully readable, much to his annoyance. He rested his head on the table, seeking solace from the lights to try and relieve his headache. The more he thought the letter over in his mind, the convinced he became that Eliza might not be bluffing, that she might really be coming to Downton. He’d not spoken to his Eliza, or any of the others, in over 13 years, not 12 as she had written. He intended to keep it that way.

Slowly, his breathing became quiet as he drifted off into sleep, still in the servant's hall, wearing most of his clothes. 

\---  
Daisy messily put her hair into a bun, rushing into the servant's hall as a shortcut to get upstairs. She stopped dead in her tracks. Resting his head on the table, was an improperly dressed Thomas Barrow. Daisy opened her mouth, debating whether to wake him or not. 

In a soft, shy voice, Daisy whispered, “Mr Barrow?” There came no reply from the sleeping man. Daisy took in the sight before her. The ashtray was overflowing, a box of matches had been upturned next to him. He was in an awful state, his black hair matted, and his undershirt rumpled. From where she was stood, she could just see the top of his trousers, confirming that he hadn’t fully changed. Though she couldn't see any alcohol, Daisy was sure that was the only thing that could have gotten him into that state.

Slowly, Daisy edged away, not knowing quite what to do. Mrs Patmore would do nothing other than hit him with something hard, and with the state Thomas was in, she doubted that would help. Daisy left the servants hall, heading towards Mrs Hughes’ room instead of going to light the fires.

She nervously stood outside the wooden door, not sure of whether to knock or not. Taking a breath, she knocked, waiting for the door to open quietly.

“Daisy?” Mrs Hughes spoke in a tired voice, which was understandable given the early hour.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Daisy whispered quietly, “It’s just that I went into the servant's hall and Mr Barrow is passed out at the table.”  
Mrs Hughes narrowed her eyes slightly. “What do you mean passed out, Daisy?”

Daisy swallowed nervously. “He’s asleep at the table...he’s still in his clothes. Not his livery, but his undershirt and trousers, and there’s a lot of cigarette stubs.” 

Mrs Hughes nodded, leaving the room and gesturing for Daisy to follow behind her. 

The servant's hall was much more full than Daisy had left it, with Anna, Mr Bates, Alfred and Mr Carson stood in a bundle, chatting quietly, eyes darting over to Thomas occasionally. The first thing Mrs Hughes noticed about him was not the state of his hair or his clothes, but the large wound covering his hand. Whilst it had been inflicted four years previously, it was the first time she had ever had the chance to see it due to Thomas’ insistence on wearing his glove. 

“Well?” Mrs Hughes said in a slightly haughty tone, wondering why no one had woken him. 

“We don’t know quite what to do, Mrs Hughes.” Anna began, eyes flickering over to Thomas. “Mr Carson has checked the wine inventory, and none has been taken. If Thomas has been drinking, then there are no bottles to prove it.” 

Mrs Hughes frowned in confusion, “well if he’s not been drinking then why is he here and not in bed? This is the first time in 10 years he’s done anything of this nature.”

Mr Carson nodded. “I have received a letter from a woman named Eliza.” He began in a gruff voice. “She has requested to visit him, and whilst she hasn’t explicitly stated so, it seems she is a relative. With His Lordship’s permission, she will be visiting today.”

Mrs Hughes nodded. “I suppose it’s about time somebody requested him. To my knowledge, he’s never once received a letter from his family, not even after the war.” She glanced to the wound in his hand, before quickly looking away.

“I’m surprised he can still serve with that,” Bates commented, moving slightly closer to get a better look at it. “It must give him hell in the winter months.”

“What do you mean?” Alfred asked, finally speaking. “He’s only ever said it’s a flesh wound.”

Mr Bates snorted. “That’s not a flesh wound. It looks like the bullet went straight through. You might want to go easy on him during the winter, it must hurt him.”

Mrs Hughes walked closer to him. “Thomas.” She placed a hand on him, shaking him gently.

Thomas flinched away sharply, stumbling out of his chair, his hair stuck to his face. 

The room silenced, a tense atmosphere immediately sucking all the conversations dry.  
“Thomas…” Mrs Hughes began, not knowing quite what to say. 

“Just a bad dream, Mrs Hughes. I must have dozed off last night at the table.” Thomas gave her a tight smile before gathering his things and quickly leaving the room without another word.

They all turned and watched him leave without a word being exchanged, no one wanting to speak until Thomas was out of earshot. 

“There's something not quite right with him,” Mrs Hughes said firmly, her head turning back to the table in front of her.

“Whatever do you mean, Mrs Hughes?” Mr Carson asked, trying to follow her line of sight and figure out what she was staring at so intensely. 

“Thomas has always been a heavy smoker, but look at the ashtray. That's ridiculous! He smokes more when he's worried. I've seen him stand outside and go through two or three at a time, but never this many.” Mrs Hughes walked closer to the table until she was stood directly next to it. “There's got to be nearly a full packet there!”

Alfred nodded in agreement. “I've never heard of him smoking this much. I always thought he just smoked so much to avoid working as much, but this must have been after we'd all gone to bed. He only smokes inside after Mr Carson has left.”

A nervous little voice in the corner pipes up, attracting the attention of the group. “I saw him come down at about ten. He'd gone up at about half past nine to get changed out of his livery and grab something out of his room,” Daisy told them, nervously playing with her skirt.

“When did you go to bed, Daisy?” Carson asked, staring down at the young girl.

“Just before midnight. He'd started smoking by then. Mrs Patmore had come out and threatened to wallop because of the amount of smoke.”

Mr Carson nodded. “Maybe this is over this Eliza women. Whilst she seemed perfectly polite in her letter to me, I did get a sense that she was annoyed with him.”

Alfred snorted. “That's not surprising.” He slouched down against the wall, seeing no reason to defend Thomas.

Mr Carson chose to ignore his comment, seeing no reason to acknowledge him. “We shall just have to see what comes of this visit.” 

With that, he took his place at the table, gesturing for the others, bar Daisy, to join him and wait for breakfast.

\---  
Thomas made his way upstairs, eyes sore from tiredness. He knew they were talking about him, but he wasn't surprised. They had just found him asleep at the table, nearly entirely dressed from yesterday. Honestly, he was surprised Bates and Carson hadn't tried to accuse him being at the wine. Or maybe they already realised that no bottles were missing. That was probably the more likely answer, after all, he wasn't going to be let off with no suspicion at all.

He opened the door to his room, sitting on the bed and sighing. If Eliza did intend to visit, he had a few days at least. Surely, she was expecting a reply from him. That would buy him some desperately needed time. Thomas sighed, pulling on his livery and buttoning it up, before moving over to the mirror. 

God, he looked a mess.

His steel grey eyes were bloodshot, with deep purple bags lining the underneath. He looked much paler than usual, his normal sallow complexion lightening to an unnatural ivory colour that only sought to emphasise the darkness under his eyes. To top it off, his hair looked as greasy as he had ever seen it, the pomade he had left in seemingly turning to pure oil in his hair. 

He picked up his comb with unsteady hands, which were shaking from a combination of exhaustion, nervousness and the usual wobble that had affected him since the war. He scooped up a large amount of pomade, hoping that it would help his hair appear slick instead of the dire mess it currently was. He ran his comb through his hair for the best part of five minutes, giving an irritable growl and threw his comb down when he finally accepted that his hair was not going to fully cooperate. He quickly darted about the room, in search of his glove, but he was unable to find it. He knew he couldn't delay breakfast any longer, so he left, without his glove for the first time in four years.

He made his way back down to the servant's hall, aware that he was late to breakfast due to the lack of noise coming from the corridors. Hopefully, Mr Carson wouldn't be too harsh, given that he had been awoken by Mrs Hughes only twenty minutes earlier. 

When he entered, all eyes turned to him, the story of his unusual bed for the night. “Somebody's been at the wine,” Jimmy said with a smirk. Thomas shook his head, sinking down into a chair, unable to think of a clever comeback. 

“Thomas,” Carson began, looking sternly at him. “Whilst I have found no evidence of such events, if I do find proof you have been drinking, you will experience the consequences.” 

Thomas resisted the urge to roll his eyes, barely restraining himself. “Yes, Mr Carson. I had received an …” Thomas stopped, trying to think of the right word to describe last night's events. “Unpleasant letter, to say the least. I must have gotten caught up in my thoughts.” 

Mr Carson looked at him, an odd look of sympathy in his eyes. “Oh, and Thomas,” he continued, causing the table to look at him once more. “If your hand gives you trouble, please tell me. Mr Bates has…informed me of how it must be painful during the colder months.” 

Thomas self consciously dropped his hand under the table, not allowing the staff to stare at it. Thomas was surprised that Bates had spoken up for him, however, it was likely because Bates knew how painful injuries from the war could be. “It aches a good deal, but I'm used to it by now, Mr Carson. It just gives me trouble when I have to clench. It's nothing I can't handle.”

Mr Carson accepted it with a nod. “By the way, Thomas, I received a letter from a woman named Eliza. She said she was family of yours and requested to visit. She should be coming round today.” Thomas practically jumped from the table, eyes darting between the door and Mr Carson. 

“Are you quite alright?” Mr Carson asked sternly. 

Thomas nodded. Relaxing slightly, he smoothed down his livery and gathered himself. “I doubt she'll visit. Eliza is very much keen on making threats, but often too lazy to carry them out.” 

At that moment, there was a sharp rap at the door, making the very little colour in Thomas’s face melt away. As Mr Carson moved towards the door, Thomas felt the eyes of everyone in the room move to him as they awaited the mysterious woman who intended on visiting. Thomas himself had edged closer to the door, so he was stood by the middle of the table, watching as she came storming in.

The rest of the staff watched in confusion and shock as a tall woman with black hair, sharp features and grey eyes stormed up to Thomas and swung her arm, a sharp crack echoing as she slapped him across the face, her nails dragging across, leaving angry red marks.

The superior look on her face immediately confirmed the staff’s suspicions that she was a close relative, though the similarities in appearance had already done that for most.

“Twelve years, Thomas! Twelve years!” she shrieked, her thick black hair shaking as she stared up at him. Whilst she was easily the tallest woman in the room, she still appeared small next to Thomas’s six foot stature. “Mother thought you had died in the war until we convinced her you were too cowardly to enlist!” 

Thomas averted his eyes, not enjoying the scene they were created. “It's been thirteen, actually,” he mumbled quietly, refusing to meet her glare. 

“That's not any better! You've not even sent a letter!” 

Thomas snapped, snarling back at her. “I assumed by the way I was beaten within an inch of my life and thrown out on my ear that no contact was for the best.” 

Eliza laughed coldly. “Poor little Tommy, it's always him bad things happen to. You deserved what you got! You're an Oscar Wilde type, no word of a lie!” 

Thomas flinched, a blush rising on his face. “Get out,” he spat, grabbing the top of her arm.

“I don't see you denying it, Tommy. I know what you did with Father’s apprentice!” She laughed, turning to the staff and surveying them. 

This allowed them to compare the resemblances more. The sharp, high cheekbones, the long thin nose. They seemed all but identical in both looks and temperament.

“I do believe we haven't been properly introduced.” Mr Carson spoke slowly, hoping he would defuse the situation.

“Eliza Barrow. I'm the older sister of that vile boy,” she sneered, waving a hand over towards Thomas.

“I wasn't aware Thomas had any siblings,” Anna said sweetly, glancing between the pair. 

Eliza laughed, shooting a cold look at Thomas. “That shows how much he cares for us. There's five of us. I'm the only girl and Tommy is the eldest boy. You seem much more dignified than my brother; tell me, where did he hide during the war whilst he worried our Mother to death?” 

Anna swallowed, not wanting to upset either party. With a squeeze of Mr Bates hand, she spoke quietly. “Actually, he was in the trenches. As a medic. That's how he injured his hand.” 

Eliza turned to him and raised an eyebrow. “You're less useless than I remember.”

Thomas rolled his eyes. “That's practically a compliment from you. What are you doing here, Eliza?” he asked harshly, wanting her gone as soon as possible. 

“Nathaniel is dead, and Mother is on her way out. She wants us to reconcile before she's gone,” Eliza informed him bluntly.

Thomas stumbled back, trying to get as far away from her as possible. “What do you mean Nathaniel is dead? You didn't mention him in your letter…” he whispered in a broken voice. 

“Mother thought it would be best to tell you in person. He died in a mining accident.” Her demeanour softened slightly, and she reached out an arm, not quite close enough to touch him, but enough that her gesture was visible, through the awkwardness of unfamiliarity.

“If you don't mind me asking,” Anna asked softly, “who is Nathaniel?” 

Eliza opened her mouth to speak, but Thomas beat her to it. “The brother closest in age to me. He would have been 24, I believe? He was four years younger than me.” 

Eliza nodded quietly. “I come here with another motive as well. We have no money for the funeral and I have no job to help put funds towards it. I was wondering if you could help.”

Thomas shook his head. “I spent all my savings after the war. I'm sorry, Eliza.”

From the top of the table, Mr Carson coughed. “As it happens, there is a job spare. Would you have any experience as a Lady's maid, Miss Barrow?” 

Eliza smiled slightly and nodded. “As it happens, yes. Like Tommy, my first job was in a large house, down in Essex. When my Father died, I was forced to quit and go back home, but I had spent roughly a year as a Lady’s maid.” 

Thomas raised an eyebrow. “You didn't mention that he'd died.” 

Eliza shrugged. “I knew you wouldn't care otherwise. He had a strong dislike for you. It was why Mother worried for you during the war. Father died at the start of it.”

Mr Carson stood, walking over to Eliza. “I cannot guarantee you a position, Miss Barrow, but I can have a word with His Lordship. If you'll come with me,” he made a gesture towards the door, and followed her out, leaving Thomas alone once more. 

“God,” Jimmy snorted. “Are all of you this bad?”


End file.
